


Upside Down

by t0talcha0s



Category: BioShock 1 & 2 (Video Games)
Genre: Eleanor finding somewhere to be, Post-Game, References to death and the bad stuff in Rapture, Something in the Sea references in that there are UFO wackos up top who have theories about Rapture, good ending, they meet one such wacko, topside
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:02:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26725606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t0talcha0s/pseuds/t0talcha0s
Summary: Eleanor Lamb had never been to the surface. Everything was unknown, unfamiliar. She had no connections here, her father was dead, Sinclair too, she was left just her mother, a dozen girls, and coordinates to the home of one Brigid Tenenbaum.
Relationships: Eleanor Lamb & Sofia Lamb
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Upside Down

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Jack Johnson song. Not because it's particularly relevant but just because it's lovely.

Delta’s body lays wet-hot in the setting sun on the lip of Sinclair’s lifeboat. Eleanor has released him, now gazes at the nothing in his faceplate. There is a second set of eyelids now that blinks behind her own and a stoic silence sits heavy on her mind. She shifts, uneasy. 

“Hello Father” she thinks, to no response, and frowns a little. She had expected a guiding voice, something to help her in the uncertainty following her escape from rapture. Someone strong and protective, a gloved hand to lead. But he is just _there._ She sets her hands on his chest, or the chest of his body, or the chest of the suit that had covered his body, and sets to pushing him into the ocean. The sound of it, the metal of him scraping against the metal of the lifeboat, is screeching-loud and head-aching. It forces tears from the back of Eleanor’s eyes. When it is over she watches him sink back into the depths and hopes that he feels no resentment at being sent back to Rapture. What else was she going to do with the body of what was. 

She rises to her feet, looking out over the glimmering sunset ocean. Eleanor has never before seen the sun in person. It is, at this late hour, massive and blinding orange. It reaches out tendrils of pink and purple and relents to cool blues. It looks nothing like the images she’d seen in books, on greeting cards, painted on Rapture’s ceilings. It is large and monstrous and stings like when Eleanor would wiggle a tooth too hard as a child and it would stab into her gums. A satisfying sting. It should have felt overwhelming: finally seeing the thing most desired in her birthplace. But, it doesn’t. It just feels orange and huge and pales in comparison to the awkward pressure of the natural air and the knowledge that in the lifeboat beneath her boots sits her mother and a dozen odd green-faced girls. 

Eleanor drapes her knees over the side of the lifeboat, the toes of her boots barely brush the tips of the ocean waves. The sun is no longer an orb but a split orange, peeking itself over the horizon, highlighting the lines of the lighthouse. Eleanor sits with the moment, lets herself try and rest, but soon the northern wind is too cool for her to stand. 

The lifeboat has two portions: a main bunker and a private bedroom/office fit with all of the trappings Sinclair could have wanted, including a fine wooden desk which contained a carton of cigarettes and 2 bottles of whiskey. Eleanor, upon entering the lifeboat proper, sweeps past the blinking eyes of the sisters, the judging gaze of her mother and into Sinclair’s suite. The firm leather chair squeaks a little as Eleanor settles into it. On the desk is pre-prepared a pad of paper and a pen, written with coordinates. _Brigid Tenenbaum_ it says _58°43'14.7"N 7°26'17.2"E_ a note from Sinclair, Eleanor wonders if it’s the last thing he’d ever written. After giving a moment of mourning Eleanor takes the paper in her hand and rips it clean, with a satisfying sound of a tear. She just sits, holding it for a while, until her mother knocks on the door. 

“Eleanor” she said, opening the door before Eleanor had a chance to invite her. “Where exactly are you planning to go now that we’re at the surface?” Eleanor holds up the paper and Sofia scoffs. 

“What, mother?” 

“Tenenbaum? You expect her to be of any help to us?” 

“Father and Sinclair trusted her.” She rises from her chair, attempting to meet her mother at her level, exhausted from these days of escape and drama, weary down to her bones. 

“You trust a charlatan and a-”

“Mother!” Eleanor interrupted, closed her eyes, breathed. “We shall head towards the coordinates Sinclair left us and we shall find help there.” Her mother’s jaw revealed that she had far more to say but as Eleanor opened her eyes and gave her a pleading, irate look she kept her tirade to herself. Letting out only:

“The children are hungry Eleanor.”

“Then let’s feed them.” 

The problem with having over a dozen people in a lifeboat meant for one is that the rations are not enough to feed them. So Eleanor sat at Sinclair’s desk and carefully cut protein bars into equal lengths and scooped canned meat into same size mounds and dealt sardines like cards. Her mother looked on the process, watchful, approving of her care for the collective. She ate her sardines by picking them up between two fingers and biting them in half, head-first. 

Eleanor watches her mother. The way her newly dethroned position has left her unsure and exposed. She was less collected, more willing to speak without planning, and, now that she didn’t have a use for them, she avoided contact with the sisters. There was one in particular whose face she avoided, as if she couldn’t stand to look at her. Eleanor wondered why and the eyes in the back of hers took no special interest in the child. Just another daughter to protect, another line of pink bows down spines, another green-faced girl. Eleanor really tried with them. She sat and played with them, asked them questions about themselves. The girls would play and would blink at her with gazeless specifics. There were no names, no stories to them. Just the same old rhymes and roundabout conversations. It was as though they weren’t real. 

Later, Brigid will tell her, _They shall never recover their memories. They are different girls now, born age six_

When night came there rose the problem of the singular bed in the lifeboat. Again, Sinclair had not considered that he would be accompanied on his journey and had built his boat to his personal specifics: a luxury escape pod. Form over function. Eleanor denied herself the bed and didn’t allow her mother to even suggest she’d take it. She stuffed as many of the girls as she could on it: perpendicular to the way you’d usually lay. A slew of little feet hanging off the side. Eleanor herself curled up by the window, still ever fascinated by the uninterrupted sky. It was a cloudy night but that didn’t matter, Eleanor had never seen the stars before, and she could wait another day. The rolling bottoms of the clouds were a fine enough distraction.

It was two days like this before they reached land. The shock of solid ground caused Eleanor and the girls to sway uneasily. There was no give beneath them, nothing rocking under their foot, each step more shocking, more aggressive than what they were used to. The earth didn’t move beneath them so, on her first step on land, Eleanor stumbled. Her mother left the lifeboat with an unconfident ease. Her eyes stared eastward and Eleanor couldn’t tell where her gaze landed. There was no sign of civilization for miles, something Eleanor hadn’t accounted for. The landscape was large and unyielding and felt as though it would never end. Eleanor wasn’t used to so much _space._ It was disconcerting, like something could be sneaking just out of view. 

They sat on the rocks by the shore, kicking their feet and wondering what to do. Eleanor gave the girls their dwindling rations and sat beside her mother. She didn’t want to ask her mother’s advice but Eleanor was never meant to lead, not in Rapture and not here, and it was all her mother had done. She moved from her rock with the girls over to where her mother sat. 

“Mother,” she said. Sofia, in the middle of bringing a sardine to her lips, held between her nails, lowered it back into the tin and wiped the oil onto the rock. 

“Eleanor?” She was too smug about it, happy to see Eleanor requiring her help still, proud to be a powerful figure, a mother. She didn’t go on, wanted Eleanor to come to her, didn’t want to make it easy for her. 

“The only positioning system is in the lifeboat.”

“Yes?” 

“We won’t be able to go forward inland and still know where we are. I have no idea how far it is and there isn’t a town in sight so it’s a risk.” 

“Planning on relying on the help of the locals Eleanor?” Eleanor couldn’t respond, sat agape for a moment, eyes on her mother’s. Sofia paused. There was a moment where Sofia’s expression teetered between two: the calm condescension of a tyrant, and the genuine love of a mother. Eleanor hadn’t seen the latter in a long time. It was as if, in this time where Eleanor is not her project but something else, Sofia finally must contend with her daughter being a person. She can no longer keep up the facade that she is something and instead looks at her daughter as someone. She clears her throat, gathers her composure. “You might ferry south down the coast to find a port or a town if you believe that they would be of any help.” 

“The lifeboat only heads towards the imputed coordinates.” 

“Then program the coordinates south Eleanor,” she plucks a sardine between her fingers. “You are not unintelligent, don’t allow stress to disrupt your reason.” Eleanor, embarrassed and not wanting a lecture about ability and responsibility of the mind, nodded and lept from the rock they sat on, going back over to the sisters, her cheeks hot. 

She set the coordinates south. Her boots clanged familiarly on the deck of the lifeboat as she cupped her palms around her brow to shield the sunlight and stared out onto the coast. She didn’t know what a port or a town would look like, had available only the visions in her topside book she and Amir would crowd around as children, ‘ooo’ing and ‘aah’ing at the drawn sunlight and the towering ships with their massive masts. The town looked nothing like the book. All of the homes were painted white and chipping, all of the roofs were tile, they rose up in offset angles. The eyes behind hers were unfazed. It was all the same, she supposed, her father was born of the surface. Eleanor rushed into the lifeboat. 

“I’ve found a town.” She said “We’re going back on land.” 

She gathered the girls, with their grimy hair and their sullen eyes and green faces, and they and she and her mother walked into town. She didn’t know what to do with the lifeboat, left it about a mile from the town. They’d washed ashore on the western coast of Norway and all of the signs were written in a language Eleanor couldn’t understand. Most of the letters looked familiar save for an ‘a’ with a circle over it. She had no idea how to pronounce that. She couldn’t tell the bait shop from the museum. There were few people about the town: a few boats on the water, a few cars on the road. Eleanor hadn’t seen any of it, her eyes flitting between spinning wheels and flying masts and houses. Eleanor had only ever lived in apartments. There simply wasn’t the space in Rapture. Norway, it seemed, was full of space. Houses afraid to touch one another, one family’s life completely separate from another. She could hardly fathom it. 

The first pedestrian that strode by the unusual gaggle gave them a confused stare but kept walking, perhaps slower then before. Eleanor hadn’t even moved from her spot, too interested in the every working of a societal structure she’d assumed was fantasy. 

_Rapture is an opportunity,_ her mother used to tell her _a utopia. With the right guidance it shall be the finest of humanity, it is the next logical step._

Seeing the happy houses in the sunlight, the way warmth seemed to radiate from the windows, the only chill coming from the breeze off the sea, Eleanor was unconvinced. She led her crowd into what seemed to be a restaurant and turned out to be a pub. 

“Excuse me,” she asked the bartender “could you direct us here?” She laid the paper with the coordinates down on the bartop. The man took a look. 

“No, uh, no I can’t. Where is it you’re trying to get?” Eleanor tapped the paper, right below Brigid’s name.

“Here” 

“That’s not particularly helpful. Do you have a town name? A county even?” 

“No. We don’t.” Eleanor replied, sheepish. 

“Then there ain’t nothing I can do to help you. And if you and your, um, children want to be sitting you have to buy a drink or two. Shop’s gotta stay open and all.” Eleanor nodded, looked back at the girls, and ushered them outside. Eleanor took Sofia aside for a moment, watched the girls pick at the bushes, tearing the leaves to confetti.

“Mother,” she started, unsure how to broach the concept of finances with her staunchly communist mother. Her mother had piles of money around her office yes, but she never touched them herself. “do you have any topside currency?” Sofia, smiled

“I don’t.”

“You don’t have anything up here mother, savings, an old bank account!”

“You must understand Eleanor, to the people here I am a ghost. Sofia Lamb died in 1950.” Eleanor let out a huff and put all her hope in the kindness of strangers. 

She tried the next building over, a pharmacy. There was as little luck in placing the location of the coordinates but the woman working there was much more friendly, and far more inquisitive. 

“Where’d you get these coordinates?” she asked “where are the lot of you coming from? You’re no travelling orphanage I hope.” 

“The sea,” Eleanor said at first, her mind coming up blank when she couldn’t think of where to begin with Rapture, how to start the story. “We came out of the sea and we’re looking for this woman.” She tapped the paper, as if to reiterate that it was real, that it was where she needed to go, as if to convince them both. The cashier looked at her like she was crazy, and laughed. 

“Darling you sound just as cuckoo as some of my customers.” The next stop was a bakery, helpless too. Then a clothing store, then another boutique. Questions for more information and questions as to why there were so many girls and questions as to where they came from and when Eleanor answered them honestly, as much as she could with the vague understanding they’d have of Rapture’s concepts, they laughed or they stared or they told her it wasn’t good to lie. It went on like this for the whole of the block, until business became residential homes and Eleanor and the girls were tired from their walking. Sofia didn’t say a word. As the afternoon grew later and the sun began its slow descent down the slope of the sky, the group sat on a dock and kicked their feet out towards the waves, towards home. Passersby would come and gawk or the occasional curious civilian would ask them questions or clarification. Eleanor was the same every time: honest. 

It felt as though each of the townspeople came by, each with their poking and their prodding. Eleanor fielded their questions and thanked them profusely when they brought gifts, usually food for the sisters, and sat on the dock until she was exhausted. When the sun was most of the way down the sky, Eleanor still unfamiliar with its descent, it was nothing like the dimming lights of Rapture as she faded into “night”. 

One of the people, at the very tail end of the evening, before it truly fell into darkness and Eleanor resigned herself to returning to the mile away lifeboat, sat himself down directly next to Eleanor without even a courtesy _hello._ He was up very close in her space, his eyes ignored her face in favor of studying her diving suit. She’d left the trappings in the lifeboat, couldn’t be seen walking around with a giant needle strapped to her arm. 

“Name’s Erik Larsen” he said “you say you come from the sea?” Eleanor rolled her eyes, so used to the story and how it’d circulated that she was tired of telling it after all of the curious people pestering her. 

“Yes,” she said, “from an underwater city. No it wasn’t Atlantis.” 

“Where?” he asked, moving over to prod at the sister’s haunting cheeks, the hint of yellow that still tinged the corners of their eyes, the way their little lips still bright red with adam. 

“Hey!” Eleanor scolded, off put by his brashness “please don’t bother them, they’re tired.” she thought over his question. “Where?”

“Yes, where.” His gaze met Eleanor’s and it was almost worse than his previous poking. 

“It’s, it’s in the middle of the ocean, it took us days to get here.” 

“But _where_ in the ocean.” 

“I don’t know.” Eleanor said honestly. “I mean there’s the lighthouse and you could probably find the coordinates to that.” she began, cut off by her mother with a loud

“Eleanor.” It made her feel childish. “I’m sorry Mr, Larsen you said? My daughter isn’t able to tell you so much without knowing who it is you are.” He snapped his head to look at Sofia and, after a few quiet moments of rather rude staring, his jaw dropped. 

“Sweet christ,” he said, causing Sofia to raise an eyebrow. “You’re the psychiatrist.” 

“Pardon?” 

“The psychiatrist, the boys thought you might be involved, the psychiatrist.” He waved his hands madly, indicating a larger something. “The commie psychiatrist, dear g-d it really is you isn’t it? Sophie the psychiatrist, you disappeared a decade ago.” She cleared her throat, composing herself. 

“I haven’t an idea what you’re talking about.” 

“No you have to, I know it’s you. Wait, wait, I have so many questions for you but I can’t, I don’t have my notebook or my recorder, fuck, you need to come to my office.” 

“We’re trying to get somewhere.” 

“Right, right, you need money right? Or transportation? Come to my office, talk to me, and I can help you get where you need to go. I own an Atlas and a positioning system at my lab, coordinates aren’t an issue. I can help you. You just, you need to talk to me, I need you to.” 

“I don’t think that’s possible.” 

“Mother,” Eleanor spoke up “Could we have a moment to discuss Mr. Larsen.” 

“Erik, Erik please.” He nodded quickly and shuffled away from the group, never taking his eyes off of Eleanor and her mother and the girls. 

“There’s absolutely no room for discussion here Eleanor, Rapture is a private thing you cannot go spreading its story with every lunatic who believes you.”

“Who is it private for now mother? It’s empty, dead!” 

“Do you know what repercussions would arise if the knowledge of Rapture was widely available.” 

“No mother I don’t! And I don’t care! Getting these dozen girls to safety is more important to me then the reputation of you or of Tenenbaum or anyone! It’s an ugly mark on history and I don’t care if people know!” 

“Eleanor,” Sofia hisses “you are being truly selfish. I taught you to be wiser and more empathetic. Your childish misunderstanding of the way of the world-”

“Mother I cannot stand a lecture right now. Give me a reason or cease this discussion.” 

_“ADAM_ Eleanor. Don’t be so foolish as to forget the folly of Rapture is the folly of humanity. If we allow people to discover her corpse this ugly history shall become an ugly present. The world is selfish and the world is cruel and the people of the world care only for the betterment of the individual. Another man would just as quickly allow the world to ruin as Ryan did, as Fontaine did, as Tenebaum and Sinclair and all of Rapture did. You cannot expect this world to be any kinder with that information.” She looked truly disappointed, her voice falling back into the cool, calm, condescension of a tyrant, of the cult leader she had been. Eleanor flushed hot, angry red at the tone. She couldn’t argue though, just turned her head away from her mother and attempted to divert the conversation. 

“Can’t we just reveal the story without telling him where.” 

“Two people infiltrated Rapture while she was living, your father being one of them. Dozens of others were chased away or attacked for coming too close. Give them the clues and they will come.” 

“Then we’ll say she was destroyed! You sunk some of her, why not admit we destroyed her all.”

“As if they would not investigate ruins.” 

“What do you want me to do Mother!? What do _you_ suggest?” Eleanor huffed, tears of frustration ribbling the backs of her eyes. The eyes behind her own were cool and present, emotionless. Sofia’s face sat blank. She mulled it over and as Eleanor was smug of how she was not quick to bounce to a clever conclusion. She sighed. 

“Just allow me to do the talking. I shall tell a story.” 

“You’re going to lie to him?” 

“Somewhat Eleanor, I don’t believe you have the moral grounds to object now.” And Sofia brushed past her daughter and towards the man. “To your office please.” She said to him. “The girls are likely thirsty.” 

Erik led them to his office, well, Erik led them to a garden shack he had painted the windows black on. Inside was a desk, a floor lamp, several filing cabinets, an ashtray, and a mess and mess of papers stacked haphazardly throughout the room. The walls were covered with posters for movies and for USO societies. Eleanor traced her finger over one of the society posters which showed a large, orange object beneath the waves, and the words _There’s Something in the Sea! The Society of Nautical Truth_ above a list of convention dates. Erik located a pad of paper and a pen and afterwards immediately began to dig through one of the cabinets.

“Some conditions,” Sofia began, “I am not to be recorded and am to be left anonymous on all written records. You are not to pester my daughter nor the other girls with questions. Upon completion you shall provide us travel or equivalent payment to our destination.” Erik, from the cabinet, supplied a long wrinkled list. After skimming over it he proclaimed:

“Sofia Lamb!” triumphant, “the psychiatrist.” 

“I am,” she attempted not to be flustered by his interrupting her rhythm. “Will you follow my conditions?” 

“Yeah yeah, look at this list, can you confirm any of the names here? The boys and I strung together missing persons data from all over the western world, all around the same time, last known dates between the beginning of 1946 and 1950, with a real frontloading in the first few months of 1946. And some real bigshots too!” Sofia took the paper, examining the carefully scrawled names, in alphabetical order. _Andrew Ryan- Businessman, Anna Culpepper- Musician, Annabelle Jarvis - Lawyer, Anton Kinkaide- Railway Designer, Bill Mcdonagh- General Contractor_ and so on. _Sofia Lamb,_ it read near the bottom, _\- Psychiatrist._

“Yes, some of these were citizens.” She said and Erik immediately launched into dozens of other questions. He kept Sofia occupied for an hour and a half as the girls listlessly paced about his “office”. Eleanor kept herself busy with reading all of the posters and some of the papers, Erik too caught up in his investigation to bother telling her to quit the snooping. She eavesdropped as she read, listened to her mother’s slightly twisted tale. Sickness, she told him, ruined Rapture. Humans weren’t meant to live underwater, fishing and eating exclusively from so deep in the sea gave the citizens of Rapture a unique and unfamiliar viral overload. She said it was deadly, and fast. Different parts of the city had to be shut down, abandoned as mass graves and sunk into the depths, and she escaped with Eleanor and the girls, orphans she said, whose parents were lost to the disease. She said it was too dangerous to return. The topside air was dry in Eleanor’s lungs as she tried not to laugh at her mother’s lies. The real story was far more ridiculous she supposed, and her mother was a confident manipulator. Erik hung on to every word, filled a notebook and a half with all his scrawling. He asked about the missing girls from the surface, about undersea lights, about how Rapture stayed sunken. At the end of the interview Sofia cleared her throat and asked 

“Have you got any tea, my voice is rather tired.” 

“No, no,” he said, distracted over arranging his notes in a pattern that Eleanor could make no sense of on his desktop. “Where is it you girls wanted to go again, you had coordinates right.” Eleanor reached for the paper in her pocket but, as she went to hand it to Erik, still distracted by his work, Sofia took it from her hand and tore off the top half, tucking the portion that read _Brigid Tenenbaum_ into her own pocket. Eleanor supposed it was the right thing to do, she certainly didn’t want to inflict this man’s particular obsessions on anyone else, but she felt stupid for not having thought of it herself. Her mother one-upping her again. 

Erik let the girls stay in his shed-office. He brought down all of his spare pillows and blankets and let them sleep on the floor of his study. It was uncomfortable and frigid and drafty and it almost felt like home. Eleanor slept well. In the morning he rented a van and a trailer from a neighbor and calculated the location of the coordinates in his Atlas. 

“Oh you’re going to Åseral?” He said upon finding it “I had a great-uncle from around those parts, he was a real hoot.” After breakfast, scrambled eggs, Eleanor found four bits of eggshell in hers, Erik and the girls piled into their makeshift caravan and headed towards their destination. Sofia sat in the front with Erik and politely deflected his neverending questions about their lives under the waves. They were in the van with six of the girls. Eleanor and the others piled into the trailer, holding onto each other’s hands whenever the road got rocky. Their skin was cool and clammy, like it hadn’t recovered yet, like they were still down there. Eleanor felt a rush of protectiveness behind her eyes and squeezed their hands a little tighter. 

When they reach their destination, a battered old barn and house with the porch light off, Eleanor has to stretch her legs to awake their tingling pinprick numbness. Sofia does not head towards the property. She thanks Erik and warns him about their agreement and tells him to not stick around in no uncertain terms. Eleanor takes one of the Sister’s hands and steels herself. 

Eleanor had never met Brigid Tenenbaum. Eleanor had barely heard of her, she knew she helped with the creation of ADAM, the name rang a bell but it was drowned out by the overwhelming force of her mother in her life, she was a background character in her story, someone who knew her father and Sinclair. She didn’t know if she could trust her. It was worse that Brigid wasn’t expecting her.

She came to the door and knocked on it. Behind it were the voices of many people, it sounded warm in there. 

“I’ll get it!” A woman’s voice said and then the door was open and there stood a girl easily over six foot, barely older than Eleanor. Behind her, inside are a dozen odd girls about the same age age, a black man in a wheelchair, a bulky man in a cable knit sweater. He has tattoos on his wrists, ones the second mind in the back of Eleanor’s recognizes, provides paintings in Siren Alley, graffiti in the train stations, a crush of legacies in the city. Eleanor reels for a moment looking at him, the kind brown of his eyes focused on the swarm of green-faced children beneath her feet. In the back of it all, a woman in a gray cardigan with a cigarette in her mouth. At their appearance she grimaces, pulls it into a frown, and curses under her breath. 

“Lamb,” She says, her voice quiet and a bit raspy, a thick german accent. “I would have thought you dead. Why is it you are here.” It didn’t sound like a question, nor an invitation to enter. Her shoulders were sloped, as if the whole of Rapture weighed on them, as if she would never be free of its burden. 

“What?” Eleanor supplied, not for a second assuming Brigid meant her mother behind her, too focused on the gaggle of people within, all of whom were now focused on the people at the door. 

“I’m not here to cause you any trouble Brigid, my daughter brought us here.”

“How did you know of these whereabouts.” Sofia gestured to Eleanor, too startled to answer quickly enough. 

“Oh,” she said, pulling the coordinates out of her pocket “Sinclair left these in his lifeboat.” 

“Sinclair.” 

“Yes.” Unrelated to Eleanor and Brigid’s conversation, there is a laugh in the back of the room, from the man in the wheelchair. It rings through the space, it warms Eleanor’s watered bones. 

“He is dead?” 

“Yes,” Brigid had little reaction to that, not even a twitch, as though it were expected. 

“Come in.” she said instead. “There is room for the girls.” and Eleanor entered. There was a relief at being among people who understood the circumstance of Rapture, of herself and the girls, people who, with a little convincing, might be willing to make room for her too.

**Author's Note:**

> I love Eleanor I love Bioshock 2 I love how SITS expanded upon the world and brought up how it would surely have topside ripples. Love Love Love.  
> Do leave a comment if you liked it! There's nothing better then talking to people who are also into Bioshock like I am.  
> Anyway catch me on twitter @poetforprofit


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